Page 38 of The Vampire Debt

Alaric braces his hands on either side of my head, caging me between his arms and body. At some point I had dropped the dagger and have taken to clutching at his vest. Again, my body betrays me, gravitating toward him when I should be doing the opposite.

“Is that what you want, for me to drink from your veins? You want me to hold you in my arms, to feel my mouth on your warm flesh, as your life leaches from your body? And here I thought you despised my very touch. Yet you are practically begging for it.” His voice sends shivers along my body, making every inch of my skin pebble.

He leans in ever so slowly, as though he will do every last thing he spoke of. His canines grow longer as if to emphasize his point.

Despite how I try to be brave when facing him, despite how I tell him I will never fear him—I know it’s a lie. I am afraid of him, afraid of the death he could deliver. Because as many times as I tell myself my death means Kitty won’t have to pay for what I’ve done, I still want to live.

“No, don’t.” I step to the side, ducking under his arm.

“I didn’t think so,” he says thoughtfully. “But I would be happy to change that, just say the word.”

Outside the wind picks up, howling— or perhaps it's the demons that inhabit the forest surrounding his home. The rain pelts harder against the glass panes, and a roar of thunder cuts through the space between us, rattling the books.

“You’re horrible,” I say, barely above a whisper, trying to contain my heart that has jumped into my throat. I stare straight ahead at the storm raging outside, the chill of it seeping into this room.

He grips my chin gently, turning my face up and to the side to look him in the eye.

“Of course,” he says in an infuriatingly cool and unaffected voice. “You only see me as the monster that has haunted your nightmares since you were a child. So why should I be anything more?” His thumb traces along my bottom lip. “But the truth is, I am not nearly so monstrous as you.”

I slap his hand away and grit my teeth. He can use that silver tongue of his all he likes to spin lies and tell half-truths, but I know it was a vampire that took my mother from me. The laws the vampires have set down for us be damned, I refuse to let a human life mean less than the death of one of theirs.

His hand still cups my cheek, his thumb’s movements have stilled, resting on the side of my mouth. I jerk away from him, putting space between us. Every time I put distance between us, one or both of us closes it.

“Don’t ever touch me again.” Even as I say the words, I wonder how much I mean them.

“As you wish, my dear Clara, but know this—whenI touch you again, it will be because you initiate it,” he says, emphasizing the first word as if there is no other possibility. “And I will look forward to that day, because it will be more than you bargained for.”

“You have to know that I would never initiate it.” I look sideways at him. He is up to something… and a small, dark part of my soul is intrigued.

His face brightens at that. Crimson rings those dark eyes and a dangerous, sexy smile forms on his mouth. I know whatever happens next will not end well for me.

“Would you like to make a wager?”

“No, I don’t,” I say without a second’s hesitation.

He nods as though he’d somehow known my aversions to such things and absentmindedly forgot. “How about something else, then… a bargain?”

“No, it is the same thing with a different name,” I murmur. What is he up to? He runs boiling hot and freezing cold from one minute to the next, and now I can’t decipher which it is. “And I don’t trust you.”

“Come,” he says, holding out his hand to me. “We can hardly go on as we are. I will lay out the terms and then you can decide if you wish to decline or not.”

I look at his hand, doubtful. “You won’t hold me to it if I hear what you have to say and decide against it?”

“That is correct.”

I nod but don’t take his hand. He had sworn not to touch me, and I will hold him to it. Alaric’s fingers curl into his hand, forming a loose fist that hovers before he drops his arm back to his side. He chuckles lightly at the gesture.

“Pick up the dagger,” he says.

My heart stops for a second. There are a thousand different possibilities for him saying that. A fight to the death now, another threat… still, I do as he says, not taking my eyes off him as I do so.

“May I?” he asks, holding out his hand.

I debate whether or not to hand it over.Did this asshole just make me pick it up when he was capable?I glare but hand it to him, hilt first.

“That dagger is made of pure night-forged silver.” Alaric turns it over in his hand. “It is one of a kind.”

His eyes grow distant as he examines the blade as if it were more than what I see in it.